Whats Left Of Me
by SectumsempraSev
Summary: This is a story about Severus and his tramatic time at school it is set in his seventh year but it will have flashbacks. Rated M for later chapters and because it is quite tramatic. Please RR as it is my first story. Thanks :


Hey people this is my first ever fanfic and I really want to know what it is like so if it is crap pleases tell me R+R please:)

What's Left Of Me?

Severus looked across the room and stared at his own pallid reflection in the mirror. He sighed hating what he saw. Tears that he had hidden so well from behind his mask welled in his eyes, and then spilled out bringing him to his knees. He looked up again and stared into the mirror everything they had always said to him had been right. He was as repulsive, as greasy and revolting as he had always been told. He saw the scars that riddled his arms, scars he had given himself. He did not think that it was not possible to feel this much pain but he still had to endure it.

The watch on his arm bleeped loudly interrupting his weeping. He looked down at it knowing what it had signalled; it was 3:20 am on December the 25th. This day was supposed to be one of the best in his life Christmas day and the day he comes of age but for him it was one of the worst it just made him realise how distressed and alone he was. He was amazed that he had just turned seventeen and felt no different. Not that he thought it would, not that he had thought it would any difference he thought things would still be as horrible as usual why would anyone care about the fact it was his birthday to stop the taunts and insults that always came his way. Those taunts and insults that haunted his everyday, followed and tormented him.

He did not even expect to receive anything from home and with this thought of home he sank even closer to the floor sobbing harder than before. He thought of his mum and his battered and bruised heart filled with worry. He wondered whether she was sleeping peacefully, whether she even remembered that it was his birthday. He hoped perhaps even begged that this was the case and that she was safe from him, from his dad. He knew he would definitely not receive anything of him, he did not love him he did not even care about his dad hated him as he had been told by him so many times.

Crawling out of the prefect's bathroom cubicle, he dragged himself to his feet avoiding looking in the mirror. He walked out slightly limping because of the new open wound on the back of his leg that he had created that night, however tonight he does not bother to smarten himself up knowing that no-one is here anyway. Everyone else is at home enjoying themselves, lying in their beds content knowing that their presents will come soon but none will ever come for him. Nevertheless he liked it much better when the castle was empty, those who helped to make his life the hell it is were not there.

Now storming out of the bathroom, past the statue of Boris the Bewildered and down the stairs at the end of the corridor that lead down to the forth floor. He stamped down the stairs so loudly it was surprising the rest of the castle did not wake up. He continued down the stairs until he reached the ground floor. Normally he would continue down into the dungeons to the Slytherin common room and then to bed tonight however he still did not think he was up to going back. So very quietly, he made his way outside.

It was spitting very lightly but just enough to get you wet already the thin, threadbare grey top and trousers he wore were starting to stick to his body. The grey top was the only one he owned that did not have sleeves he thought it was safe to wear it tonight, as no one would be around to see his cuts and ask how he got them. It felt so peaceful outside and then suddenly he was exhausted. He sat down on the floor, it was sodden and cold but he could not care less, he leant his back against a large oak tree. It was digging into his back but he was so cold he could not feel the pain. He looked up at the night sky and wished he could be up there and not in this hell. For the second time that night he took out his wand pointed it at his wrist.

"Sectumsempra".

He had invented that spell and so far only used it on himself. He felt relief as the blood ran from his arm staining the snow around him a dark crimson red. He was annoyed at himself for getting so upset he needed to be punished.

He bellowed "Sectumsempra".

This time it cut deeper into his wrist than ever before the blood gushed out of the gaping hole in his wrist. The blood ran down his hand and onto a fast growing pool on the floor. He felt dizzy, worried, and sick. What was he going to do now? He stood up and wobbled faintly walking determinedly to the lake he thrust his bleeding wrist into the icy depths. It stung like mad but the pain made him feel alive, he loved that feeling of pain it was the only time when he ever felt alive. Splashing water on his face in an attempt to stop the blackness that was coming over him, he got up and tried to walk away.

Nevertheless, it was in vain, as he fainted forwards into the lake. He could feel his eyes closing, the water burning his skin he was sinking deeper into the icy depths of the lake he tried to move his arms, and legs but his body would not let him move. He knew it he was going to die, he did not fear death but he had not expected it to come so soon. He was glad though that he could finally exit this hell he wondered if anyone would care, maybe his mother she might shed a tear over him but he doubted it.

Just as he felt his life slip away from him, he saw a hand fly through the water and grab him by the collar of his shirt. He felt someone pull him onto the bank as he took in deep breaths of frosty air shivering. Turning on to his side, he was sick, his eyes closed and he fell into unconsciousness.


End file.
